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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033947">Christmas in Christmasville</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morike91/pseuds/Morike91'>Morike91</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Gen, Hallmark Christmas AU, Holidays, I am not sorry, Ice Skating, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Make the Yuletide Gay, More holiday puns, Santa Claus - Freeform, holiday puns, snow ball fights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:41:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morike91/pseuds/Morike91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>En route to an important interview with a prestigious university, Harrowhark’s rental car breaks down just outside her own personal hell: Christmasville, a tourist attraction decked with all manner of holiday spirit. Gideon is the resident car mechanic and lover of all things Christmas. Can Gideon bring joy to Harrowhark’s world? Will Harrowhark rest ye merry Gideon with her bad attitude? Answers to these questions and more holiday puns abound in the Hallmark Christmas AU no one asked for!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Pent/Magnus Quinn, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. December 21, Harrowhark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Huge thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bridrizzle/pseuds/bridrizzle">Briana</a> from the People's Tomb Discord for bouncing ideas off with me and beta’ing. She’s the reason for all the good ideas in here. Another huge thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/vwampage">Vwampage</a> for helping out with the holiday puns. “Red Nose Auto,” “Dinner Bells are Ringing,” and several others were all his. And thanks to The People’s Tomb Discord server for your unending inspiration, discussions, and for being filthy enablers. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the twenty-first day of the twelfth month of the year, Harrowhark Nonagesimus rented a sedan and left the big city. She had packed some winter clothes, a binder of her published academic articles, and her laptop. Her destination: Upstate University, a relatively small university but the only one with the program that closely matched her area of study. Lucky for her, this university was also interested in having Harrowhark on staff as she wrote her dissertation. They had only scheduled the interview the previous day, and Harrowhark was determined to be the first of her peers to acquire a placement. </p><p>With the city more than an hour out of sight, Harrowhark found the country, of all things, terrifying. It had nothing to do with how white it was, covered with snow. She played her favorite podcast in the car to soothe her, to remind her that people lived in the country well before they lived in the city and made do. They just had fewer options when it came to household maintenance, or hired lawn care, or takeout after midnight. </p><p>She had just gotten over her fear of being stranded in the middle of nowhere when she passed the most obnoxious sign she had ever read. </p><p>CHRISTMASVILLE, it read in bright, cheerful letters that made her gag. And underneath the town name: SANTA’S HOME AWAY FROM HOME! TAKE THE NEXT LEFT AHEAD! It finished with an arrow for any idiot that didn’t know left. Like a lot of Christmas decor, the sign was vaguely Scandinavian in design, and Harrowhark couldn’t help but laugh as she passed it. She did not take the next left ahead.</p><p>Karma knew she didn’t, though, and chose this moment to fuck with the rental engine. It started with a rattling noise, then the gas pedal wouldn’t make the car go. Harrowhark managed to pull it onto the shoulder before she realized there was white smoke coming from under the hood. Harrowhark turned off the car, grabbed her bookbag with her laptop, and got out, just in case the car decided to explode on her. </p><p>Explosion or not, she had a call to make. First, to the professor she was supposed to meet, explaining that she had wanted to speak with him this afternoon but found herself on Highway 25 with a smoking engine. When he asked the nearest town name, Harrowhark gave it and surprised herself by not sneering as she did so. </p><p>“Ho ho ho!” the professor laughed. If she didn’t want to impress the man, Harrowhark would have rolled her eyes, even if he couldn’t see her. “You’ll want to call Red Nose Auto, then. Gideon is the best.”</p><p>“Can you give me his number?” Harrowhark asked. “My phone is about ready to die.”</p><p>The professor gave it, and Harrowhark memorized it on the spot. </p><p>“Thanks so much. I’ll call again when I have a better idea of when the rental is running.”</p><p>“No hurry at all,” the professor assured her with a jovial laugh. </p><p>Then Harrowhark called Red Nose Auto and asked to speak with Gideon.</p><p>“Speaking,” said the woman on the other side. She had a warm voice, friendly, probably someone prone to smiling (how annoying). </p><p>Harrowhark was caught off-guard for half a heartbeat, then got her mind back together. “I’m on Highway 25 with a car engine that is smoking white. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“I’ll be right over and take a look.”</p><p>As she waited, Harrowhark’s paranoia grew. Would the car explode as she’s waiting, thus destroying all her clothes (and the nice ones she used for conferences and interviews at that)? Would she be stranded in <em> Christmasville </em> of all places, forced to wear ugly Christmas sweaters covered with tinsel and actual bells that jingle; or worse, one of those sweaters where her actual bare breast served as the face for a reindeer? </p><p>Harrowhark quickly stomped to the trunk where she stored her duffel and took it out, slinging it over her shoulder and walking away, fearful of humiliation and frostbite on her breast. </p><p>A tow truck, green in color but with <em> antlers and a red nose on the front grill </em> pulled up beside her as she walked away from the car. A woman with short red hair and aviator sunglasses poked her head out the passenger side window. Decals on the door read Red Nose Auto in gold. </p><p>“Hey there!” the woman greeted in a familiar voice. This must be Gideon. She was definitely prone to smiling. “Are you Harrowhark?”</p><p>“Yes,” she replied before pointing to the car twenty feet away. “That’s the rental right there.” The sedan itself was dark grey, so it didn’t completely blend in with the surrounding snow. Harrowhark would have preferred a black car, but she couldn’t afford to be choosy. </p><p>The woman—Gideon—gave a thumbs up, and Harrowhark was surprised to find the woman’s mittens were black. Gideon motioned for the driver to park in front of the broken car. Gideon jumped out of the passenger side with a toolbox in hand. An older gentleman emerged from the driver's side, wrapped in a brown winter jacket and bright red Santa hat. He had a disposable coffee cup in hand, which he handed to Harrowhark as he approached. </p><p>“Hello,” he greeted. “This is for you. It’s hot chocolate.”</p><p>Harrowhark accepted the drink, her eyes on Gideon as she stripped away her leather jacket, mittens, and scarf, hanging them on the tow truck as she opened the rental’s hood. Gideon wore a long-sleeved shirt that wasn’t quite black; it was obviously a work shirt with grease and oil stains all over, like someone regularly wiped their hands on themselves. The sleeves were loose around Gideon’s (very attractive) forearms and kept falling back to her wrists as she worked. </p><p>“I’m Magnus,” the man said.</p><p>“Harrowhark,” she replied, eyes inspecting Gideon as Gideon inspected her engine. </p><p>“The vehicle’s in good hands,” Magnus assured her. “Gideon’s one of the best in the county.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.” Harrowhark absentmindedly took a sip from the hot chocolate; colder than the tongue-scalding temperature she preferred but still warm enough for her body to welcome it. Magnus kept talking, but Harrowhark was lost in her attraction to a woman she had barely met. A woman with colorful red hair like the reindeer nose on her tow truck, who wore a black leather jacket and black mittens as if in defiance of the holiday. Harrowhark knew her attraction was entirely physical and nothing productive would happen if she decided to flirt; it didn’t hurt to drink up something nice though, especially when life suddenly went to shit. </p><p>Finally, with a huff, Gideon slammed the hood shut. “Can’t fix her here,” she called to both Harrowhark and Magnus. “We’ll have to bring her back to the shop. And I need to make a parts run.” Gideon wiped her hands with some blue paper towel before donning her leather jacket and wrapping her bright red scarf around her neck, the only spot of actual color in her entire, dark wardrobe. The mittens she threw in with the tools. Harrowhark found herself approving of the aesthetic; despite the name of the shop (which probably belonged to Magnus), Gideon was probably a fellow eye-roller at anything related to any holiday ever. </p><p>Harrowhark watched, sipping the hot chocolate (which was quite good) as Magnus and Gideon hooked up the rental to the tow cables. Gideon stored Harrowhark’s duffel with her toolbox in the back of the tow truck. When everything was set to go, Harrowhark sat in the cab, sandwiched between Magnus and Gideon. The hot chocolate was almost gone, and Harrowhark downed the dregs as Magnus started the engine. </p><p>The worst thing in the world happened as they pulled onto the road. Gideon, still wiping grease from her hands with the same paper towel, turned to Harrowhark and said, “So, walk me through how the car drove before it got <em> sleighed </em>.”</p><p>She was way too proud of that. Her eyes, which were golden in color, lit up like a guiding star. Harrowhark refused to answer until Gideon rephrased the question. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The waiting room at Red Nose Auto may have been off-putting to some people, decorated with skulls dressed in Santa hats, and posters about proper car care bedecked with skeletons of reindeer, but Harrowhark liked it. If Christmas came with a heaping pile of bones every year, she wouldn’t be so opposed to it. (Unfortunately, every year, it was like Santa’s elves had a rager for Halloween, re-discovered they couldn’t control themselves, vomited Christmas everywhere, then had the audacity to not clean up until the new year.) </p><p>Christmas, according to the songs, was supposed to be a time for family. Harrowhark, a bit lacking in the familial department, preferred it as a time of solitude. It was the time when her peers in her master’s program retreated to their families, some of whom lived out of town, freeing up the library’s resources for Harrowhark and Harrowhark alone. She had good standing with the librarians and could check out a few books without consequence. Her annual Christmas tradition was purchasing a smorgasbord of her favorite takeout on Christmas Eve so she could do nothing but read and research until she either ran out of food or New Year’s Eve arrived. She had planned to return from her interview with barely enough time to do that before the best takeout places closed for the holidays. </p><p>A string of loud cursing from the garage was an indicator that this year would be very different. </p><p>Gideon entered the waiting room, her red hair mussed with streaks of grease where she had run her hands through it in frustration. Her face had the careful mask Harrowhark often saw on retail employees this time of year, the pinched one that looks like they’d much prefer to sneer than smile. “Hey, Harrowhark? Bad news.” </p><p>Harrowhark stood from the uncomfortable couch where she had been re-reading one of her favorite articles about bones. </p><p>Gideon continued, “That piece of sh—I mean, your rental car is a driving explosion waiting to happen. And it’s worse off than I expected. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a couple days for me to fix up.”</p><p>It was the worst thing Gideon could have possibly said. Harrowhark imagined her delightful days alone in the big city between Christmas and New Year’s and watched as Gideon personally flushed them down the grungy toilet in her garage’s unisex bathroom. She shut down her mental processes for a second, giving her brain a moment before rebooting it to a place where it could make a decision she didn’t want to make. </p><p>“I know you’re from out of town,” Gideon said, “so I have a solution for you. Magnus’s wife Abigail runs a bunch of bed and breakfasts. She can get you sorted with a room in one of them. Tell her to bill me for it.”</p><p>Abigail typically worked out of the back office at Magnus’s hardware store; Gideon provided instructions on how to get there, located in the main block downtown, less than two blocks away. “I would show you myself, but I have to clean up the garage for tomorrow and then get myself cleaned up for dinner tonight. I’m sorry this isn’t a one-day job. Abigail will take good care of you.”</p><p>Harrowhark didn’t know what to say to any of this besides “Thank you,” which may have come across snippier than she intended. (She really did like the fact that she wasn’t the one finding a room herself.) </p><p>The walk through Christmasville wasn’t <em> as </em>horrible as she thought. Bright gold tinsel coiled around dark lampposts like gothic versions of candy canes. The streets were well plowed, the sidewalk clear of any snow, shoveled or plowed into picturesque piles by the curb. The walk, with her duffel slung across one shoulder and her backpack on the other, felt more like a trudge. Harrowhark kept her gaze on the sidewalk, on the watch for ice that could send her on her ass as easily as a reindeer takes to the sky. When she crossed the road to the main part of downtown, Harrowhark looked up and dropped her duffel bag. </p><p>The main drag was pedestrian-only, a brick road leading to a large square holding an impromptu ice skating rink and a Christmas tree almost as tall as the city hall building at the very end. Each and every storefront featured holiday decorations, from pine boughs to holly branches to (ugh) twinkling colored lights. Harrowhark had spent most of the afternoon at Gideon’s auto shop, and the sky colored with the lowering sun, giving downtown Christmasville a nostalgic glow, but nostalgic for everything Harrowhark had missed as a kid. </p><p>She curled her lip at it for ten seconds, then sucked it up. The choice was to walk through this or spend the night in a snowbank. So she picked up her duffel, adjusted her backpack and continued her trudge, rolling her eyes at every store name as she passed it: a Merry Little Library was a bookstore, Sugar Plum Bakery looked like a coffee shop, and—worst of all—there was a liquor store filthy with customers called Gettin’ Blitzen’d (Harrowhark actually made a noise at that). </p><p>Decks and Halls was Magnus’s hardware store. She clumsily opened the doors and shuffled inside. Indoors wasn’t <em> so bad </em> in terms of holiday decor, at least it was still obviously a hardware store past the window displays. There was a coziness to it, with the heat and the smell of sawdust and pine needles and faint music through a speaker system. Harrowhark only balked at the size of the aisles, which were <em> narrow </em>. She dropped her duffel and kicked it in front of her to the counter in the back, where a woman with maternal features and soft, brown hair pulled back by a pair of reading glasses on her head bowed over a laptop. </p><p>“Excuse me,” Harrowhark said upon approach, “are you Abigail?”</p><p>The woman looked up, her eyes friendly though she wasn’t really smiling. Harrowhark recognized the look on every librarian she ever interrupted and felt her shoulders slump in relief. “Yep, that is me.”</p><p>“The woman from Red Nose Auto sent me,” Harrowhark continued. “She said that you could put me up for the night? My car broke down and—”</p><p>Abigail waved away the rest of what Harrowhark was going to say. “Say no more,” she said. “Magnus mentioned picking up a stray along the highway today. How long will you be staying with us?”</p><p>Harrowhark shrugged. “You’ll have to ask . . . Gideon? Gideon. She said it would take a couple days but didn’t specify. So . . . I don’t know.”</p><p>As she talked, or stumbled more like, Abigail’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her friendly eyes slowly narrowing as she typed. Harrowhark waited as Abigail scrutinized the screen. She hmm’d. Then, to Harrowhark’s discomfort, she actually made a sound that resembled a “haw.” Abigail had a face journey that Harrowhark had never seen before, and it fascinated her. Bells, she was tired. </p><p>Finally, Abigail sighed. It was a spear in Harrowhark’s gut, piercing a hole for feelings to leak out. She was stranded in a horrid town with horrid decorations with no way to escape and, now, nowhere to go. Harrowhark tried to stopper her feelings, but her eyes burned anyway. She lowered her gaze and blinked, hoping Abigail wouldn’t notice. </p><p>“Whelp, I guess you’ll have to stay with us for a few days.”</p><p>This was absolutely worse. Harrowhark shriveled and it wrung some liquid from her eyes. Unfortunately, Abigail noticed. </p><p>“Oh, hey there, it’s okay,” she said, soothing. Harrowhark felt a hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it away. Abigail stuck around as though she were used to this type of quiet not-a-meltdown, which was infuriating. </p><p>With deep, regular breaths, Harrowhark calmed herself down. She wiped away the tears from her cheeks, probably smearing her make up in the process, but the important part was she patched the metaphorical holes in her gut and no longer leaked. When she was certain nothing would spill out anymore, she looked up. </p><p>Abigail had returned to her laptop, which turned out to be a ruse. Or not. </p><p>“All right,” she said with a few final keystrokes. “I am officially done here. So I am going to call my husband and he is going to pick us up out back and bring you home. Fair warning, I’m currently fostering a couple of teenagers. They’re good kids, but can be a bit rambunctious to the uninitiated. What else? We don’t have any pets, so I’m sorry if you are a dog lover. House rules are shoes off at the door, say please and thank you, be nice to the ferns, and please only eat in the kitchen. You are free to spend time with us, or you can keep to yourself. Oh, and tonight is a big family dinner. You are welcome to join us if you’re hungry, but I can also make you a plate to take to your room if you’d rather be alone.”</p><p>“I’m a stranger off the street,” Harrowhark said. “Why would you have me in your home?”</p><p>Abigail smirked at that. “I foster teenagers,” she said. “It’s a complicated system, but it also means being a safe haven for troubled souls. You seem troubled, and I am a safe haven. We’re a match made in heaven. Besides, it’s almost Christmastime, and you look like you could use a community.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. December 21 & 22, Gideon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Family dinner at the Pent House brings an unexpected visitor.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gideon Nav arrived at the Pent House at the usual time. Her hair ungelled, her jacket and scarf unimpressive, her sweater old and worn but still handsome. Abigail and Magnus were casual people. When Gideon lived under their roof during her final two years in the foster system, she initially hated them for their </span>
  <em>
    <span>routines</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>chore wheels</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>house rules</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As an adult and in hindsight, she came to appreciate that level of discipline. Gideon had friends that went into the army straight after high school, and the horror stories ensured Gideon stayed well away from that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Technical school was where Gideon learned to thrive, where she took her habit of stealing and trading in car parts and turned it into an honest career. She high-key had Magnus to thank for that, and low-key Abigail, who was the more intimidating of the two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their current set of foster children was a pair of fourteen year-olds that had been around for almost a year at this point. One of them, Jeannemary, answered the door when Gideon rang the doorbell, exposing the smell of dinner to Gideon and, by extension, her growling stomach. Oregano and tomatoes and garlic—Abigail made Italian tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Gideon!” Jeannemary greeted, excited and shy and caught in her own infatuation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, kiddo,” Gideon said, stepping inside. She handed the box of desserts from Sugar Plum Bakery to the teenager. “Can you put these in the kitchen please?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeannemary took it and scampered down the hallway, thick brown curls bouncing with her movement. Gideon removed her winter things, and noticed an extra pair of boots neatly lined up next to the normal pile of shoes. They had a visitor. Gideon kinda hoped it was the customer from earlier in the day. She was cute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon paused at the doorway to the kitchen and had to force her heart to stop from going a mile a minute. It was one thing to talk to a cute girl as a customer, where interactions came with scripts; but now Gideon could really </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark sat at the kitchen table, looking uncomfortable as the only stationary person in the kitchen. Isaac and Jeannemary moved around her as they set the table—Jeannemary with the heavy plates and Isaac with the lighter silverware. Abigail stood at the stovetop, slicing a big pan of lasagna into plate-sized portions (yum!). Magnus was taking drink orders, filling up a couple glasses with the water dispenser at the fridge. Gideon gave him hers as she sat down across from Harrowhark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there,” Gideon said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark’s eyes widened at the sight of Gideon. They were dark, deep, intelligent, covered with expertly applied eyeliner that looked renewed since the afternoon. Maybe Gideon should have worn a nicer sweater for dinner tonight; Harrowhark obviously changed into something nicer (from a ragged black blouse to a crisper one, also black). Gideon felt a flush on her neck when those eyes landed on her; she hoped her smile covered it up pretty well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here?” Harrowhark sounded accusatory, like Gideon’s presence meant she murdered somebody. Her hair looked so soft, and Gideon wanted to rub her fingers through it. But that would be rude. Ew, don’t do that now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon shrugged. “Family dinner,” she said. “I’m part of the family. See the resemblance?” She pointed to Magnus setting a glass of water in front of Harrowhark. Magnus, in true Magnus form, struck a pose that Gideon mimicked without looking. Harrowhark looked between them, a corner of her mouth curling upward. Gideon called that a victory even when she wanted to see the full, genuine thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail set the lasagna in the center of the table, between Gideon and Harrowhark, and announced the start of dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most of the conversation happened between the Pents, Abigail and Magnus respecting some boundary Harrowhark must have expressed beforehand. The goth visitor listened to the conversation, though most of her attention seemed to be on her food. Gideon noticed she mostly ate the noodles and scrapped off most of the sauce. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Conversation was the usual: Jeannemary wanted to apprentice at Gideon’s shop, and Gideon repeated her own criterion of Jeannemary’s apprenticeship going through the local technical school, which Jeannemary was too young to enroll in anyway. Isaac spouted some more history facts (Christmas was originally a pagan holiday, which was news to Gideon). The hardware store was doing good, as was the auto shop. Abigail’s bed and breakfasts were all booked until January, which they usually were at this time of the year, but Abigail didn’t realize no one had cancelled until Harrowhark here needed a place to stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Harrowhark,” Gideon said. It had been a few minutes since the black-clad stranger had taken a bite, so was maybe waiting for a cue to leave. At one end of the table, Abigail and Magnus shared a look. Gideon couldn’t tell if it was a look of curiosity or warning. “What do you do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark shrugged her bony shoulders and Gideon reminded herself that Harrowhark’s eyes were on her face, not her clavicle. “I’m a grad student. Big city university. I study bones.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Enough foster kids had come through this household for Gideon to understand when to leave well enough alone. So she simply said, “Wicked” in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, a corner of Harrowhark’s mouth curled upward, like she approved of Gideon’s approval. This was promising, Gideon thought. She couldn’t full-on flirt with Abigail and Magnus </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so Gideon started racking her brain for a situation that got her alone with Harrowhark, at least to ask her on a date before she has to leave. Show her something nice in what must be a very crappy week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isaac did not know the unspoken social cues Gideon did, and started asking enthusiastic questions about bones, which Harrowhark answered. Bones seemed to be a safe subject, something Gideon filed in the back of her head for later. At the other end of the table, Abigail and Magnus relaxed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark dismissed herself when Abigail announced dessert. Gideon, who normally helped put the dinner away, followed her to the stairwell by the front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Gideon said. Harrowhark was almost halfway up the stairs. She stopped to look down on Gideon, one hand on the railing wrapped with faux pine branches. “Let me buy you lunch tomorrow. Comet Cafe on the square at noon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s . . . “ Harrowhark crossed her arms. Gideon thought she would say something snooty or condescending. Instead, the visitor said, “You’ve already been too nice to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon smirked. Her heart jumped a beat when she noticed Harrowhark flushing in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, gloom mistress, it’s okay to accept help when you need it. If it helps, though, you can always buy me lunch.” Gideon winked. Harrowhark bit her lip in thought. When she didn’t say anything, Gideon said, “I just want to have lunch with you. You can say no if you want.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dutch,” Harrowhark said, finally. “You buy you, I buy me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Harrowhark said as Gideon turned to leave. Gideon waited, her neck heating up. Harrowhark’s eyes were wide when she asked, “Is there like a good place to do some work around here? I just need wifi and good coffee.” And a place away from Abigail and Magnus, whose hands-off approach to housing strays was intimidating if you weren’t used to kindly parental figures giving you autonomy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m partial to Sugar Plum Bakery but there’s barely any room to sit,” Gideon said, always plugging the good sweets of Camilla to complete strangers. “Comet Cafe has decent coffee. More room. Better wifi.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long until the car is fixed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon grimaced; that car was already a pill to fix up. What it really needs is a brand new engine and better axles, but the rental company isn’t going to pay for the entirety of that. Not when Gideon proposed a smaller bill with the bare minimum fixes. “I’ll have a better idea tomorrow,” she said. “Sorry. I hope you’re not missing anything special for the holiday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark shook her head. “No, not really, I guess.” When she sighed, it was with resigned disappointment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an intriguing response, meaning she probably did have plans. As Gideon returned to the kitchen, she thought about all the different ways she could make it up to Harrowhark. The car troubles weren’t anybody’s fault, but that was all the more reason to help where she could. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who am I looking at?” Camilla asked. She and Gideon stood outside the front window of Comet Cafe, Gideon scrutinizing every guest inside, looking for one in particular. It wasn’t quite the lunch rush, but a text from Magnus an hour ago confirmed that she left that morning with him and Abigail for the hardware store. She should have—there! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark sat in a corner behind the counter, away from the front window, her back facing most of the cafe like she wanted to block the world out. Gideon pointed her out to Camilla. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon and Camilla graduated high school together but didn’t click as friends until Camilla returned from college with a bachelors and took over the bakery from her mother. Camilla was the last person Gideon expected to bake; she was all hard lines and efficiencies and hardcore mathematics and logic. But Camilla applied all that to running a business (it could have been any kind of business, really), and Sugar Plum Bakery grew and grew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camilla scrutinized Harrowhark like she sized up a rival bakery in a neighboring town. Which meant Gideon could discern jack squat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?” Gideon prompted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s certainly your type,” Camilla said. Her brown eyes flicked up and down Gideon and her leather jacket, black pants, and Doc Martens; the studs in Gideon’s ears and the aviators on her nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camilla sighed, the animation of the motion a signal that Camilla was done with Gideon’s bullshit to anyone but them. “Why are you asking me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because the last girl I dated, you absolutely hated, and it turned out that she really was the reincarnation of the krampus if the krampus also cheated on its meals.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“RIP Cytherea,” Camilla said, sotto voce. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I dunno, I want your approval before I get too invested in this one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about Camilla was, she looked like she got all straight As in school because her parents wouldn’t let her play video games or whatever if she didn’t, but her parents didn’t really care about her grades. Camilla Hect, champion of childhood achievements and teacher’s pet eighteen years running, had the heart of someone who studied </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> rules existed and used that knowledge to exploit them to her advantage. If Christmasville somehow acquired national media attention, it wouldn’t be because the town was “Santa’s home away from home,” it would be because Camilla somehow managed the worst white collar crime imaginable and wasn’t caught until fifty years later from a minor bureaucratic paperwork fluke she only overlooked because she couldn’t account for the tenacity of bored women with a true crime podcast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Camilla gave her signature side-eye smirk to Gideon, the redhead’s eyes lit up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bring her to the cookie decoration workshop at three,” Camilla told Gideon. “Don’t be late.” Which was a useless thing to say but whatever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Gideon called to Camilla’s back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three o’clock!” Camilla called back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Comet Cafe smelled of coffee and sandwiches and chili. Gideon knew they got their bread from Sugar Plum Bakery, which was a new thing Cam started trying out this year. She waved to Ortus behind the counter. He waved back over the heads of the customers already in line. At her table in the corner, Harrowhark wore big, noise-cancelling headphones with skulls on the ears. She bent over a laptop like a witch over a cauldron, her pointed face scrunched in a sneer. She didn’t notice Gideon walk up to her, so Gideon knocked on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark startled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Gideon said when Harrowhark took off her headphones. She heard something with heavy guitars from the ears and suppressed the urge to talk metal bands. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, my midnight hagette.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it noon already?” Harrowhark checked the time, then her face fell. “You’re late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon sat across from her, the laptop between them. “Sorry about that too. You order lunch yet? What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the promise to go Dutch the previous evening, Gideon purchased lunch and a refill for Harrowhark’s coffee. She called it a small victory, sneakily paying for her date’s tomato soup. Gideon got herself a sandwich and peppermint hot chocolate (tis the season!) and brought both drinks and a number to the table. Harrowhark slid a ten across the table to Gideon, which Gideon pocketed, slightly defeated. Harrowhark cleared the table of her laptop and wiped it down with what looked like a moist towelette from her backpack. When Gideon set the mugs down, she noted a dismissive eye roll at Gideon’s mug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got something against Rudolph?” Gideon cradled her mug as though the mug had ears too sensitive for Harrowhark’s disapproval. Ortus liked giving Gideon this particular mug because their businesses shared names with reindeer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just . . . “ Harrowhark vaguely gestured to the rest of the cafe, decorated in nontraditional holiday colors but still very much Christmas-themed. “What’s with all this shit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In terms of holiday decor, Comet Cafe was not the worst offender (that was definitely the general store in the square), nor the most enthusiastic (Sugar Plum Bakery, surprisingly). Porcelain knick knacks of forest critters decorated the shelves: otters and deer and squirrels and owls and foxes. Each one wearing some type of scarf or hat in bright, saturated colors. Unlike the rest of the town, Comet Cafe didn’t display the normal red-green-gold of Christmas, instead favoring teal, orange, violet, neon green, magenta, and other non-holiday-specific colors. The mugs were a combination of plain-colored and holiday-theme; no two plates were alike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Christmasville,” Gideon said. She pointed to the cafe in general. “This is kind of a year-round thing for us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon shrugged. “I dunno. It brings in the tourists? Do you have anything against Christmas?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark shrugged, no longer willing to make eye contact. Gideon’s question hit a mark; this subject was personal. “It’s not my favorite time of year,” was all Harrowhark said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon wanted to be understanding. Ten years ago, she had very similar feelings around Christmas, the holiday of </span>
  <em>
    <span>togetherness</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy</span>
  </em>
  <span> and everything that was the antithesis of Gideon Nav, orphan of the system. But then she actually came to live in Christmasville, which was its own version of hell at first. But like Magnus had taught her, the difference between heaven and hell was all a matter of perspective. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had changed Gideon’s mind, in the end, had nothing to do with Christmas. She opened her mouth to explain all this, but Harrowhark interrupted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is the car ready yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then another interruption, in the form of Ortus announcing their number from the counter. Gideon nabbed the opportunity to get their lunch like an elf stealing Santa’s cookies. When she returned, she had a plan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit on the car situation, my penumbral princess,” Gideon said when she returned. Harrowhark’s face fell, but that only inspired Gideon to continue. “In the meantime, your life won’t be absolute crap. I’m going to need three days.” Then she took her first bite, which opened things up for a response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To fix the car?” Harrowhark nearly yelled, understandably incredulous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To make you fall in love with Christmas,” Gideon clarified after she swallowed. “To give you what I’m assuming would be the best holiday experience you’ve ever had.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark stirred her tomato soup, as though unwilling to taste it. Her nose wrinkled in a sneer, and her lunch partner couldn’t help but find it adorable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” Gideon said, “what else are you going to do?” Then, when Harrowhark wasn’t forthcoming, “You’ll get to spend more time with me.” As if that was a selling point, and for all Gideon knew, it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They locked eyes, Harrowhark’s dark as a moonless night. Her brows were expressive, thin, elegant. Gideon liked the wrinkle between them, even though it was an indicator of condescension or distaste (or both). She wore studs in both her ears, most of them bone-shaped which was pretty metal. Her hair, black as a crow’s feathers and just as soft, was trimmed short in a pixie cut. Harrowhark’s face was angular, pointy, like an elf’s. But a Lord of the Rings-type elf, not a Santa’s workshop type elf. Gideon really wanted to kiss the wrinkle away between her brows; the more respectful way to do that was to try to make her smile again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harrowhark said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon pumped her fist, unafraid of Harrowhark’s stuffy opinion. “I will not disappoint you, mistress of perpetual night. We start today. Meet me at Sugar Plum Bakery at three o’clock. It’s in the square. Don’t be late.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. December 22, Harrowhark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Santa? In this small town? It's more likely than you think . . .</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The woman behind the counter at Sugar Plum Bakery had a no-nonsense chin-length bob and a no-nonsense blank expression when Harrowhark entered her shop. She looked about Harrowhark’s age, with a pair of eyes that were used to rolling at stupidity. Harrowhark felt a connection with her already. </p><p>“You must be Gideon’s date,” the woman said. At Harrowhark’s flustered confirmation, she continued, “Camilla Hect. Did Gideon say this was a cookie decorating workshop?”</p><p>“She just said to meet her here at three and not be late,” Harrowhark said. She had arrived five minutes to three, and Gideon not being around at this time felt like a bad omen. </p><p>Sugar Plum Bakery normally closed half an hour prior, but Camilla let Harrowhark in as if expecting her. Inside, most of the shop was taken up by big bakery cases displaying a smattering of treats that had disappeared throughout the day. The rest of the bakery was pretty sparse; two small tables for customers that wanted to hang around the bakery with their treats, the plain tile floors and plain walls decorated with messily done coloring pictures of Santa, reindeer, and snowmen. The ceiling had criss-crossing red and gold tinsel with bright green ornaments dangling from the intersections. </p><p>Harrowhark’s eyes wandered to the bakery case and what was left of the brightly colored cupcakes within that stood in stark contrast to the monotonous ambivalence of Camilla. Without thinking about it, Harrowhark found herself browsing for a sweet, attracted to the remaining bright holiday colors despite herself. </p><p>Camilla followed her pace behind the counter. “Gideon’s always late,” she explained. “I bet you a cupcake that she arrives ten minutes after three.” </p><p>“I can’t bake,” Harrowhark said. </p><p>“So if I win, which I will, you have to purchase a cupcake after the workshop. Pick one out and I’ll set it aside now. If you win, which you won’t, you get it for free. Either way, you get a cupcake.”</p><p>Harrowhark decided that she liked Camilla, so she considered this proposal, her eyes drifting to one of the vanilla ones with gold frosting. She saw a swatch of black and red in the reflection on the bakery case plexiglass. “This one,” she said, pointing to the cupcake with the least amount of frosting. “And I bet the next person through that door will be Gideon.”</p><p>Camilla extracted the cupcake from the case with expert hands as the front door jingled. Harrowhark turned, expecting the auto mechanic, but found a rotund gentleman with a snow-white beard instead. His coat was so brightly saturated red that he might as well have stepped out of the faerie realm. Or the North Pole. </p><p>“Ho ho ho!” he greeted Camilla with a wave. </p><p>“Ho ho ho!” Camilla shouted with more enthusiasm than Harrowhark thought capable. She immediately busied herself with picking out a sugar cookie and poured some hot chocolate from the big thermos dispenser behind the counter. </p><p>The gentleman looked at Harrowhark with glittering beetle black eyes. “Haven’t seen you <em> here </em> before,” he said. He emphasized the “here” as though he had seen her elsewhere, but Harrowhark couldn’t remember where she had seen this man before. At least where she would have seen him in real life. His mall impersonators did not do this man justice. </p><p>“Hello,” was all Harrowhark squeaked in greeting. </p><p>He accepted the cookie and hot chocolate with a wink. “Best cookies around come from Sugar Plum Bakery,” the man told Harrowhark. “You should try them.”</p><p>“I will be,” she said. She meant the cookie decorating workshop she was apparently attending, but her tongue was all tied up. Harrowhark wasn’t usually this shy around anybody, a trait she learned by necessity. But something about this gentleman, with his friendly demeanor and glittering insect eyes and magical laugh made Harrowhark feel like a hopeful child, albeit one that was too shy to speak up for fear of being denied the very thing she hoped for. </p><p>The gentleman left the shop without even paying. Harrowhark was about to ask what his deal was when Gideon came careening through the door, as though she ran all the way from her auto shop two blocks away. </p><p>“You missed him,” Camilla said by way of greeting. </p><p>It took Gideon half a second to understand what Camilla was saying, then stomped a foot in disappointment. The motion sent a drop of sweat flying off her forehead. “Ah, man.”</p><p>Harrowhark noted, not entirely against her will, how Gideon looked winded, hot, and bothered. The attractive glisten of sweat on her brow, the deep color of her cheeks, the way her breathing was hard and deep as though used to the exertion. How that face with those features might look under different circumstances . . . .</p><p>“He literally just left,” Harrowhark said, pushing down her lust. “He should have been right outside the door when you came in.”</p><p>Both Gideon and Camilla looked at Harrowhark like she started hovering two feet off the ground. Before Harrowhark could argue her case further, Camilla said, “Guess you won the cupcake, Harrowhark.”</p><p>“You gave a man a free cookie.”</p><p>Camilla shrugged. “You said the next person through that door. That wasn’t a person.”</p><p>Camilla must bake something in her sweets and distribute them around the town because that was not rational talk. Harrowhark, who had a lot of experience dealing with Ianthe Tridentarius back at her university, knew the best course of action in this scenario was to shut up and go with it. No use arguing with nonsense when people were convinced of it. </p><p>“Let’s decorate some cookies,” Gideon said and led the way into a back room. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The back room at Sugar Plum Bakery was reserved for workshops and classes. The entirety of one wall was occupied by industrial shelves filled with various supplies Harrowhark did not want to get a good look at. The other three had waist-high counters on top of built-in drawers and cabinets. One wall had plastic piping bags filled with pre-made frosting. A dark-skinned woman with a strong jaw was placing piping bags on the four big tables in the middle of the room—two stations per table, one on each end. There were already sheets of pre-cut and pre-baked sugar cookies at each station. </p><p>The woman looked up when Camilla, Harrowhark, and Gideon entered. “Already?” she asked, incredulous. </p><p>Camilla smirked. “Not yet. I deliberately told Gideon the wrong time.” (“Hey!” Gideon protested.) “Do you have extra black frosting made?”</p><p>The helper woman, whom Gideon introduced as Judith, replied, “It’s still in the back.”</p><p>“I’ll go get them then,” Camilla said. She turned to Harrowhark and Gideon, “Make yourselves comfortable. Workshop actually starts at three fifteen.”</p><p>As she left the room, Gideon said to her back, “Let the record show that I am offended by everything you’ve done today.” Camilla didn’t react, which was the sensible action. </p><p>Judith was the one actually running the workshop. She shared a similar deadpan look in the eyes like Camilla, as though she had seen all this same bullshit already; unlike Camilla, Judith seemed to hold out hope that the bullshit would eventually improve. Her thick hair lay in braids down her head and dangled on her shoulders like black icicles. The pastel colors of the Sugar Plum Bakery apron were ten times more cheerful than Judith.</p><p>Then the first guests walked through the door.  </p><p>“Welcome!” Judith said, the exclamation point a genuine expression. Her eyes were pretty when she smiled, and her face was warm. The guests were a four-person family, two mothers and their young children. </p><p>Harrowhark and Gideon stood at the station furthest from the door, towards the front. Harrowhark leaned into the red-haired auto mechanic and muttered, “Are you well-liked in this town?” She could relate to being an outcast, having felt like one her entire life. </p><p>Gideon shrugged in reply. “That’s just Judith,” she said. “We finished high school together and she was one of those athletes with hella good academics, played by the rules because the rules said she could be top dog. Unlike me. I think I stole her hubcaps once. Got a pretty good price for them. What did I buy from that?”</p><p>“You . . . stole her hubcaps.” Was Harrowhark spending time with a criminal? Did she even have a rental car to get back to? </p><p>“I’m a clean citizen now,” Gideon said. “Got an Associates and everything. I grew as a person. Judith, meanwhile, is still a stone cold bitch that will kick a soccer ball in my face every day if she wanted to.” This last bit was directed straight at Judith, who was greeting the next few guests. She definitely heard Gideon. Instead of glaring or ignoring her, Judith stuck out her tongue. Gideon did the same. The childish interaction continued until Harrowhark cleared her throat. </p><p>“Judith’s good people,” Gideon finished. She then turned to the family that took the station at their table and asked the kids their favorite frosting color. </p><p>Harrowhark didn’t pay attention to the conversation, just to Gideon. The muscles in her neck shifted when she laughed; Harrowhark noticed because she would throw it back. Her smile came easy, as worn and comfortable as the leather jacket she had set aside. The scarf she wore in the cold should be green, Harrowhark determined. She already had the red hair and gold eyes for the season. </p><p>Gideon used to steal hubcaps. She grew up in foster homes. She came out of the system functional and thriving, with her own business and a place in a community. Family dinners. A friend who ran a bakery. Another friend who worked at the bakery. Foster parents who still treated her like one of their own. Little foster siblings who looked up to her. </p><p>Harrowhark came out of the system thirsty for a drink she didn’t know the name of. She was comfortable around dead things, which is why that became her course of study. Dead things won’t leave you alone when you most needed help, won’t sell your secrets in exchange for safety, won’t beat you up when you were down. She studied bones, in particular, because they signified the last stage of decay after death; they were the last vestiges of a life before being lost to the ether. Harrowhark looked at the corpses of stories that lived long ago and wondered what sort of impact her own bones would make on anthropology. </p><p>Gideon did not have that worry, because she was already impactful. </p><p>Then Gideon turned her golden eyes to Harrowhark, and the temperature in the room must have raised several degrees from all the people coming in. </p><p>“You okay?” Gideon said, checking in. </p><p>“Yeah,” Harrowhark croaked. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just never decorated cookies before.”</p><p>Camilla came by with two piping bags of frosting. “These are both black and just for you,” she told them. Then, to Harrowhark, “I assumed you’d want black frosting too. Gideon has a type,” she said with an eye roll. </p><p>“Creepy goth girls?” Harrowhark said, who knew the energy she radiated. </p><p>Gideon said, “Hell yeah!” at the same time Camilla said, “Lost girls, more like.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Harrowhark stared at the six cookies, laying in a box in her lap. (The cupcake she had won she split with Gideon in the shop, where they hung back to chat with Judith and Camilla as they cleaned up the workshop. By split, Gideon took a single bite, and helped the other two clean up; Harrowhark sat on a counter, feet dangling, listening more than talking.) She sat in the passenger seat of Gideon’s car, en route to what Gideon called The Pent House. </p><p>There were six different holiday shapes, and only two of them featured bones. Harrowhark decorated six cookies at the workshop, and all of them were the fantastical skeletons of the holiday item in question. Of the other four, two were made by Gideon, who gave Santa vampire teeth and werewolf claws (and a bloody torso since “he totally lost the vampire war”) and made the Christmas tree a not-so-subtle butt plug, complete with a jewel at the flared end. Harrowhark had laughed out loud, a bark that made Gideon’s eyes twinkle like the Christmas tree in the town square. Because she laughed, Gideon insisted on trading it with her. </p><p>“I swear I’m not a creep,” Gideon said as she took Harrowhark’s skeleton pine tree. She did not <em> deny </em> any sexual interest in Harrowhark, the academic noted. </p><p>The final two cookies Harrowhark traded with two other attendees at the workshop, a little girl and her toddler brother; both of whom shared Gideon and Harrowhark’s table. The little girl really liked the yellow skeleton on Harrowhark’s gingerbread man. The gingerbread man Harrowhark got in return was really a candy cane gingerbread man, or a gingerbread man trapped in a candy cane; Harrowhark had a hard time parsing the toddler speech. She traded a black-and-gold candy cane with a little boy who stared at it, wide-eyed, and refused to eat it when Harrowhark gave it to him. His mother gave Harrowhark the boy’s candy cane, which wasn’t striped at all, more like one of Santa’s elves threw up colorful candy all over it. Harrowhark couldn’t wait to eat it.</p><p>The cookie trading was a tradition for Gideon and Gideon alone. So Harrowhark got looped into it too. Gideon, it seemed, was a regular at the cookie decorating workshop every week. (“I get free holiday workshops, Cam gets free oil changes. It evens out,” Gideon had explained when they got into the car.)</p><p>Now, on the drive to the Pent House, Gideon asked, “Penny for your thoughts?”</p><p>As Harrowhark chewed on her answer, she realized that the radio played Christmas music and, surprisingly, Harrowhark didn’t mind. </p><p>“I’ve never done that before,” she said. </p><p>Gideon squeezed Harrowhark’s forearm. Her hand did not linger—she had to downshift before stopping. Of course Gideon, an auto mechanic, drove a manual. It was almost entirely black, which made the red brakes behind the hubcaps stand out. All other small accents, like the seatbelt buckles and the lights on the tripped up radio, were also red. Harrowhark noted that Gideon’s car was also customized, and most of the work was probably done under the hood. </p><p>“Did you have fun?” Gideon asked. </p><p>“Yes.” Harrowhark found she could say that with honesty. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”</p><p>Gideon’s smile was crooked, like she was missing a muscle in her face. Her eyes glittered like the tinsel around the lampposts downtown, their gold color illuminating the darkness like candles. Harrowhark’s stomach flipped, and it was not an unpleasant sensation. </p><p>“Tomorrow I’m taking you caroling,” Gideon said as she pulled into a driveway. “We’re meeting at A Merry Little Library at noon-thirty, so Camilla says.” Gideon narrowed her eyes in friendly suspicion at the mention of Camilla and incorrect times. “You’ll be on your own for lunch, but we’ll be spending the entire afternoon together. Unless you are completely sick of me, then we don’t have to spend the entire afternoon together, but please come caroling anyway.”</p><p>Barely two days in this town and Harrowhark no longer minded Christmas. Or maybe her attraction to Gideon transcended her hate for the holiday. </p><p>“Car fixed yet?” Harrowhark asked, testing the ice.</p><p>Gideon flinched. “No.” She looked genuinely disappointed at this. </p><p>Harrowhark decided not to press it. “I’ll be there at . . . noon-thirty.” </p><p>“Great!” Gideon took off her seatbelt. “I’m going in with you. Abigail texted to say they’re decorating the tree!” She made it sound like an exciting time. </p><p>Harrowhark knew that she did not have to join in the tree decorating, but she stuck around anyway. She mostly sat at the couch, an observer to a tradition she had only heard about, a mug of hot cocoa in hand. It tasted nothing like the hot chocolate Magnus had given her on the side of the highway. She nibbled at the candy cane cookie she received, the others a gift to the rest of the family. (Jeannemary called dibs on the skeleton reindeer.)</p><p>By the tree, Isaac sat on Gideon’s shoulders as Abigail passed ornaments for him to hang towards the top. Magnus and Jeannemary, out of sight from Abigail, hung ornaments in Jeannemary’s thick hair instead. When her hair was barely visible, she came out and struck a pose, the movement sending most of the ornaments to the carpet. Isaac laughed until he snorted and almost fell off Gideon’s shoulders. Despite slacking off for most of the time, Jeannemary insisted on putting the star on the top. Magnus lifted her, his broad shoulders showing off more muscle than Harrowhark gave him credit for. </p><p>Gideon, shoulders now free of teenagers, caught Harrowhark’s eyes. She crossed the room, sat next to Harrowhark on the couch. They said nothing, but Harrowhark adjusted her legs so she could lean into Gideon. Her heart pounded in her chest and ears under Gideon’s gaze; she matched its steadiness anyway. Then Harrowhark took Gideon’s hand and wound their fingers together. Gideon squeezed, a sigh escaping her lips. </p><p>Magnus flipped the switch to light the tree. If Abigail noticed the couple on her couch, she said nothing and drew her family’s attention to the kitchen for hot cocoa and Harrowhark-decorated cookies. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. December 23, Gideon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>(to the tune of "Mary, Did You Know?")<br/>Harrow did you know that your girlfriend is a master of bad wordplay?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The carolers were neither skilled nor well organized, despite Palamedes’ best efforts. But he had an annual tradition and goddammit he stuck to it. Gideon was not a singer in any sense of the word, but she loved caroling. Part of the charm of Christmas carols was that they were bad by design, so it didn’t matter that Gideon barely sang in the elementary school choirs, or was terrible at karaoke, or otherwise lacked any musical sensibility. Besides, she preferred singing in a group. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slid across a patch of ice, like she used to with Magnus on the hardwood floors with soft socks, as she approached the group outside the bookstore. Palamedes and Camilla stood in front of everyone, the people giving instructions and handing out songbooks. Gideon collected her book but otherwise ignored them until she saw a familiar patch of black standing just outside the group. Harrowhark dressed warmly, but Gideon could tell the scarf was Abigail’s—it was an elegant brown color, for one, an utter clash against her thrifty black wardrobe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark looked relieved when she saw Gideon slide up to the group. They stood shoulder to shoulder (er, shoulder to temple, since Gideon was taller), Harrowhark less tense with a familiar face by her side. She already had a songbook and paid attention to every word from Palamedes laying out the rules, as if they mattered (they definitely did not. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>caroling</span>
  </em>
  <span>). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caroling with Palamedes was simple. They started at A Merry Little Library with a three song set, then moved to the next corner where the group would sing three or four more songs, depending on the gathered crowd, then moved to the next corner. They stuck to the pedestrian-only part of downtown for safety reasons, and to the more well-known Christmas carols for the sake of the carolers; Palamedes and Camilla typically led a handful of the more skilled and/or willing singers up and down the other parts of downtown. Gideon never joined for that part, instead preferring to shop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark stuck with Gideon towards the back of the group. Halfway through one of their opening numbers, “The Christmas Song,” Gideon stopped singing to listen to Harrowhark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In speech, Harrowhark’s voice was cultured, slightly nasally, with a hint of an accent Gideon couldn’t place but sounded posh. Harrowhark spoke as if she grew up mimicking every rich person portrayed on television, then that way of speaking became a habit. Fake it ‘til you make it but with speech patterns. Gideon recognized it as a defense mechanism, knowing other kids who did the same in various other foster homes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In singing, Harrowhark’s voice was rich and pure. She sang like she was one of the better singers in high school choir and never lost the knack. As the song progressed into the second verse, Harrowhark’s technique notably improved to Gideon’s tone-deaf ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the song finished, Gideon leaned down to mutter in Harrowhark’s ear, “Hark, the Harrow angel sings!” Harrowhark rewarded her with an elbow in the ribs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camilla, who stood on Harrowhark’s other side, raised an eyebrow. Harrowhark rolled her eyes in response as Palamedes blew the next pitch. The next song started. Gideon joined in this time, but she noted Harrowhark couldn’t keep a smile off her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In traditional Gideon measure, when the group started “Jingle Bells” (somewhere around Magnus’s hardware store), Gideon refused to sing the actual lyrics. Harrowhark stopped singing, not because of annoyance, but because she vibrated with withheld laughter. She hid her face with the songbook, one arm across her ribs. Gideon’s shit-eating grin grew bigger, her eyes on Palamedes’ vexed expression. To Gideon's credit, a few other carolers joined in too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they finished their full set, back at the bookstore, Camilla announced free hot chocolate to the carolers at Sugar Plum Bakery as they turned in the songbooks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could use some,” Gideon said. “Free hot cocoa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark nodded. “Yeah.” Then, as they walked across the square, “That was fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark already knew Camilla from the day before, but who she would really get along with was Palamedes. The two smarty pants would hit it off, and Gideon was confident that Harrowhark could match Palamedes’ level of intelligence. So she called him over and introduced them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They immediately started talking about bones while in line for hot chocolate. Harrowhark was animated in the conversation, Palamedes engrossed like he gets when he’s really into a book or watching a documentary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camilla nudged Gideon with her elbow, then nodded to Harrowhark in front of them. “You gonna strand her here forever?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No. Absolutely not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camilla said, “Mm-hmmm,” with her signature side-eye. Like she didn’t believe Gideon! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The car is a piece of shit before it started combusting,” Gideon said, definitely not hiding anything. “It’s taking longer than anticipated to work on it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet you are here where the broken car isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, Jan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon huffed. Harrowhark wrote something on a small notepad, some nerd stuff Gideon wouldn’t understand even if Harrowhark explained it. Maybe a book title or something? Gideon noted Harrowhark’s relaxed shoulders, the smooth patch of skin between her brows, the way her dark eyes twinkled in the afternoon winter light. She looked relaxed and open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knot twisted itself in Gideon’s gut. Because Harrowhark would eventually leave, and then Gideon would be without Harrowhark. And then, well, girlfriends weren’t exactly easy to come by in this town; Gideon was the only single person she knew, and it was a lonely place to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Palamedes suggested getting dinner that evening. Gideon followed Harrowhark on that decision, but she was open to it. Yes. They’ll meet at Dinner Bells Are Ringing (Harrowhark: “At where?” Camilla: “The only decent restaurant here.” Palamedes: “It’ll be packed.” Gideon: “But so worth it!”) before the dinner rush. (Harrowhark: “Hold on, I just had lunch.” Palamedes: “Me too, but we know all the hostesses and they’ll only give us the good table if we’re there early.” Camilla: “Trust us.” Harrowhark: “Just when I’m getting used to this place.” Gideon: “We go for drinks, then order dinner when we’re like two in the bag and in need of sustenance.” Harrowhark: “Oh, that practice I know.”)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Free hot chocolate in hand, and free of Cam and Pal, Gideon and Harrowhark looked at each other. The square smelled of snow and balsam, the ice skaters lapping the makeshift ice rink in the middle of the square. Gideon didn’t want to return to the shop, where she would get greasy (again) and miss the first part of dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna go shopping?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark perked at the idea, her pointed features giving her the appearance of an elf. Gideon held out a mittened hand, and Harrowhark took it, her hands also clad in mittens (also borrowed from the Pents, though Gideon recognized them as old ones of hers). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll show you all the good places,” Gideon promised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between the racks at Old Silk Hats, Etc., Harrowhark flipped through black shirts in the men’s section. As far as thrift stores went, it had better pickings in the spring and summer. But Gideon was a regular among its racks, and she already knew exactly what was available in approximately her size. Her main area of browsing was among the housewares—particularly the beer glasses, of which Gideon amassed a small collection through the years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark seemed to be on a mission. The crease between her brows was back, but it had a determined set to it. Gideon recognized it from the other day as she was bent over her computer in Comet Cafe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want for Christmas?” Harrowhark asked Gideon, scrutinizing a black shirt Gideon was really </span>
  <em>
    <span>meh</span>
  </em>
  <span> on. Harrowhark tried to be inconspicuous about the question, but Gideon heard the tension in her tone, the way the question came out strained, the pointed way she studied the shirt as she asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon only shrugged. She was half a rack over, by a size more suitable to small bony frames, and finding nothing that would be suitable. At least nothing that screamed five-years-out-of-fashion-but-always-in-style, which seemed to be Harrowhark’s aesthetic beyond just </span>
  <em>
    <span>black</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Nothing material,” Gideon said, frowning at mediocre sweaters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt Harrowhark’s eyes on her back; she refused to meet them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you?” Gideon asked. “What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark replaced the shirt on the rack. “I want to get hired by Upstate University.” Harrowhark’s face was pensive, her hands stilled on the racks of shirts and sweaters. Gideon didn’t prompt her, and she continued anyway, “I joined this server with other grad students and PhD candidates at that school. I’ve been talking to them in the mornings. And we get along. They’re not like my peers in the city. And . . . and they’re close by here. So . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Those unspoken words got Gideon’s hopes up. Instead of saying something that would get those hopes trampled by metaphorical reindeer, Gideon said, “So, my midnight hagette, I guess that means we’re both shit to shop for.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the Christmasville General Store, which was nothing but kitschy souvenirs and overpriced plastic doodads, Harrowhark picked up a single postcard. The one that featured an aerial view of downtown in its glory about seven years ago when the ice skating rink was still a new idea. Sugar Plum Bakery was there but didn’t have Cam’s signature pastries or window decals. Decks and Halls was there; A Merry Little Library was not. Harrowhark looked at the postcard with a reverence Gideon didn’t understand, but didn’t question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their final stop was Mrs. Claus’s Closet, a clothing boutique Abigail liked. Gideon needed to pick up a pair of earrings Magnus told her to get, so she went to the register where the jewelry hung while Harrowhark wandered the racks. Glaurica behind the register was never a big fan of Gideon, but it’s been long enough that Gideon wasn’t bothered by that anymore. Maybe five years ago, Gideon would have said something passive-aggressive or intentionally antagonizing, just to get under Glaurica’s skin. But Gideon just said she was picking up something on behalf of Magnus, and Glaurica’s features relaxed, relieved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The something was a pair of golden earrings. As Glaurica gift wrapped them, Gideon observed Harrowhark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had tried on a sick, black jacket with pointed shoulders and an asymmetrical zipper in the front. Gideon felt herself flush at the way the jacket hugged Harrowhark’s ribs, the way it accented her shoulders, gave her a semblance of a shape that wasn’t “stiff, uncooked spaghetti.” Harrowhark twisted in the jacket, admiring herself in a mirror. She looked like a heroine on the cover of a paranormal paperback. She looked like the lead singer for a rock band loved by everyone in the dive bar. She looked like she could kick Gideon's ass into next Sunday and Gideon would roll over and ask for more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Harrowhark checked the tag. Gideon watched her reflection in the mirror, the way her brows shot up, then lowered in disappointment. Her cheeks drooped for a moment, then she pinched her lips and it set her face in a carefully neutral expression; an expression as familiar and worn on Harrowhark as Gideon’s leather jacket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon turned to Glaurica. “Psst,” she said, a finger to her lips. “Can you set aside that jacket for me to pick up tomorrow morning?” she asked under her breath, gesturing to Harrowhark, the only other customer in the store. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glaurica looked at Harrowhark, then raised an eyebrow at Gideon. For a moment, Gideon thought the haughty woman would argue, maybe throw in an insult or something. But something in Gideon’s expression softened the woman. A corner of her mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Sure,” Glaurica said, quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside the shop, the sky shone gold with the setting sun with streaks of navy and deep violet catching on the clouds like watercolors. Harrowhark grabbed Gideon’s hand, like they had been doing all afternoon, like it was a comfortable thing to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna surprise Cam and Pal by beating them to the restaurant?” Gideon asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if we call that my idea,” Harrowhark said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The best table at Dinner Bells are Ringing sat in the corner furthest from the restrooms and hid from the rest of the restaurant. A single corner booth in the bar area where no one could look at them, which gave the privacy of one of their apartments with the white noise of a crowd. It was the place of many first dates, provided you knew how much the hostess will accept in bribes (which Gideon and everyone else in Christmasville did), and the preferred seating of everyone in the county under the age of 35. Which is why getting there before the dinner rush was key. It was an unspoken tradition that the claimant of The Table had it for at least three hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cam already had the table when Gideon and Harrowhark arrived. She sprawled across the corner booth, her eyes daring anyone not in her party to eject her. When Gideon and Harrowhark arrived, she sat up straight and said Palamedes was in the restroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unlike the rest of the town, which was kitschy in its holiday decor, Dinner Bells are Ringing took things in another direction. The restaurant was already dark with wooden accents and dim, golden lighting that reflected Gideon’s eyes in an enticing way (a factoid she only knew because previous girlfriends, Cytherea particularly, commented on it). In the center of every room, in place of a chandelier, an inverted Christmas tree dangled from the ceiling. Except for in the bar—there were two in the bar. The ceilings were high enough that people could sit </span>
  <em>
    <span>underneath</span>
  </em>
  <span> the inverted Christmas trees. On one failed date, one of the rare ones where Gideon failed to acquire The Table, she had sat underneath it and declared herself the date’s gift for the night. The date lasted half a drink before leaving for the bathroom with her purse and jacket in hand. Gideon, still determined to have fun, tried to drown herself with an open tab she later regretted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon wasn’t keeping up with drinks since she volunteered to be DD; Cam and Pal had a successful caroling adventure and they didn’t deserve Gideon’s drunken antics. Her one drink was with dinner, and even then it was a cider with such low alcohol content to basically be apple juice with a carbonated tang. Her burger practically cancelled out any effects. But Harrowhark, inebriated after only two gin and tonics, got passionate about her course of study. She also had a wickedly dirty mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bones</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she told Palamedes. She leaned across the table, as if Palamedes was an evil mastermind and Harrowhark was James Bond. “I study </span>
  <em>
    <span>bones, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sex Pal. I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>boned</span>
  </em>
  <span> myself with this career.” Harrowhark giggled, then hiccuped, then giggled some more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cam failed to suppress a laugh at that. Then she snorted, causing a pause for the entire table and the one next to theirs. Cam and Harrowhark laughed, outright </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed</span>
  </em>
  <span> which Cam never did. (Cam also outdrank everyone.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon had the privilege of being the one Pal shared a look with, a spot typically reserved for Cam, but it seemed the two switched places as soon as dinner was taken away. Cam and Pal each had a final drink over dessert, where they all split a giant slice of cake. Harrowhark dug in excitedly, her cheeks flushed, but squirmed at the sweetness of it. Gideon wanted nothing more than to stuff her in her jacket pocket and keep her there forever; she was so cute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They split the bill between the four of them, and walked the two blocks to Gideon’s auto shop where she had parked her car for the day. Cam and Pal were roommates and best friends and not in a romantic relationship, a factoid that blew Harrowhark's sobering mind as Gideon dropped them off at their residence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the driveway of The Pent House, Harrowhark hesitated. Even in the dim light of the streetlights (old-fashioned lampposts were only downtown for The Aesthetique), Harrowhark’s cheeks were still rosy. But her eyes were sharper than they were at the restaurant, the result of the glass of water Gideon had her chug before leaving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Question for you,” Gideon said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Answer for you,” Harrowhark slurred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what to do tomorrow,” Gideon said. “With you, I mean. I thought I would have you decide.” It would be the third and final afternoon to make Harrowhark fall in love with Christmas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark’s eyes darted between Gideon’s, dark pinpricks that glinted like poison, her pixie cut hidden underneath her black stocking hat, Abigail’s scarf loose around her neck. Gideon wanted to remove the scarf and replace it with her lips, wanted to suck on the metal in Harrowhark’s ears, and taste the gin and tonics on her breath. The way Harrowhark’s ears colored, Harrowhark had similar thoughts about Gideon. Gideon watched the tension in her throat when she swallowed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not with a drunk girl, Gideon thought. Not when I am totally sober. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ice skating,” Harrowhark finally said. “The rink in the square. At one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon’s smile was pinched. “I’ll meet you there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark, with the grace of a fish on a dry dock, slipped the moment she stepped out of the car. Gideon supported her until Abigail took over at the front door. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Christmas Eve, Harrowhark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Spot the cameos :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a cloudy day for ice skating, but that did not stop the crowd from gathering. They rented skates from Decks and Halls and the Christmasville General Store and skated circles in the mini- makeshift rink on the square. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gideon, despite her athletic build, did not have the balance for the endeavor. She kept falling over, once on top of Harrowhark. The mechanic was apologetic, removed herself from Harrowhark too quickly. Her cheeks colored as she looked at the academic still splayed on the ice, cheeks also colored and hot and pinched from laughing. Harrowhark reached for one of Gideon’s hands, determined to pull her back down, but then Jeannemary and Isaac stopped next to them. Well, Jeannemary stopped, Isaac ran into the nearby barrier wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jiminy Christmas! Are you okay?” Jeannemary asked, shrill teenaged voice calling the attention of everyone else in the square. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harrowhark got up from the ice, frustrated but unwilling to express why. Her face was still hot, and she felt it expand to her neck and chest. She skated a couple laps just to clear her head, then eased beside Gideon once more. They had been here for a while at this point, and Gideon really wasn’t enjoying herself. Harrowhark, if she was being honest, felt the same. She wasn't a teacher so couldn't teach the auto mechanic about balance and keeping your knees bent. So they left the rink and returned their skates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downtown was still crowded with people, mostly out-of-towners walking around to absorb the holiday spirit and locals working for that last minute holiday sale. Yet, the further they got from the skating rink, Harrowhark felt it was just the two of them. She held Gideon’s hand in hers, her small mitten feeling protected in Gideon’s larger one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harrowhark pulled Gideon to a stop. Gideon’s eyes were gilded with curiosity, then melted at Harrowhark’s expression. The day’s snowfall collected on Gideon’s short, red hair, the cold reddened her nose. But her cheeks weren’t red from the cold. Harrowhark wanted to do more than look, had wanted to do more than look since yesterday at least. Would have kissed Gideon good night had she not splayed her drunken ass on Abigail's driveway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mechanic towered over her, but not by as much as she thought. Harrowhark grabbed the lapels of Gideon's leather jacket as best she could with wool mittens and used that as balance to raise on her tiptoes. She could just barely reach Gideon’s mouth with her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gideon closed the gap, warm lips gentle and cautious. Her hands grasped Harrowhark's elbows. That wasn’t enough. Harrowhark bit Gideon’s lip, sucked, and then a snowball hit Gideon in the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They startled so violently that Harrowhark lost her balance and fell on her ass. Gideon remained upright, her eyes falling to Harrowhark, then whoever tossed the snowball. Abigail and Isaac were the only ones they knew; Abigail pointed a gloved hand to Isaac, who pointed a mitten to Abigail. Someone from the crowd checked on Harrowhark, but she ignored them. On her knees, she gathered what unshoveled snow she could from the ground, and tossed it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She aimed for Abigail, but hit a well-dressed man in a white peacoat instead. With just one look, Harrowhark knew he would have sued her for emotional damages and won the lawsuit on the spot. But then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Gideon bellowed, loud enough for the entire square to hear. She cupped her mittened hands around her mouth like a megaphone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone who did not want to get caught in the cross-snow booked it into the nearest shop. Gideon lobbed a handful of snow to Isaac, who dodged by ducking behind Abigail. Abigail was all set to defend her ward until the ward in question betrayed her, hitting her square in the back. Gideon was distracted by her foster family, and Harrowhark took advantage by hitting her in the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was more than the four of them. Observers became collateral became snow soldiers. At one point, Palamedes came out of his bookshop to lob a few off at unsuspecting fools, who got their revenge. Harrowhark saw Judith from Sugar Plum Bakery back-to-back with a dark-skinned girl who could have been her girlfriend. Magnus and Jeannemary came to join in the fight from Magnus’s shop. A group of women including the cashier from the other day stared out the front window of Mrs. Claus's Closet, each expression a mixture of amusement and disdain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harrowhark attempted to claim a pile of shoveled snow for her own, Gideon at her side (now fragile allies). They distributed their ammo without prejudice, but received just as much as they tossed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Harrowhark was ready, the fight dispersed.  She stood panting on her mound of snow, now almost as tall as Gideon, eyes aglow at the snow-dusted pedestrians with their smiles and laughter, their rosy cheeks and calls for a happy holiday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gideon took her hand. “Warm up at my place?” she asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Harrowhark said, cheeks also rosy, but for an altogether different reason. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gideon had a cabin in the woods—a small one-bedroom affair with plastic on the windows for better insulation. The kitchen was small with minimal counter space, most of which was dominated by a crockpot set to low heat, the source of a hearty, meaty smell Harrowhark couldn't name. Kitchen, living room, and entryway blended together into one big space; a small dining table was pushed against a wall near the kitchen. The couch sat in the middle of the room facing a big television mounted on the wall, a shelving unit below displaying a gaming console and a mess of wires. The back of the room had two doors, one to a bathroom and the other to Gideon’s bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place was sparse, but homey. It felt like Gideon; the way the throw pillows on the couch were mismatched but dark in color, the small pile of dishes in the sink that signaled single occupancy, the kickass longsword displayed on the section of wall between the bedroom and bathroom doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most surprising of all was the lack of holiday decorations. The wood panelled walls bore no tinsel or twinkling lights. Tabletops and counter spaces held no nutcrackers or porcelain shops or other such knickknacks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No tree?” were Harrowhark’s first words about the place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who for?” Gideon asked. For the briefest of moments, Gideon’s normally cheerful cheeks drooped. Two words that contained a forest of depth to a loneliness that Harrowhark was all too familiar with. Then Gideon smiled widely. “Let’s get warmed up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hung Harrowhark’s jacket, mittens, and hat on a nearby drying rack beside Gideon's own winter things. Harrowhark used the restroom while Gideon moved about the kitchen, heating up water in the microwave for mugs of hot chocolate. They finally settled on the couch, sharing a blanket between them, their thighs able to touch without being self-conscious about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harrowhark only then realized that it was just the two of them, and Gideon didn’t share any walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should watch a movie,” Gideon said. “You ever see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Elf</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Harrowhark said, refusing to mention that she actively avoided it. “Let’s watch it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Gideon turned on the TV and game console, Harrowhark sipped her hot chocolate. It was hot and tasted vaguely of cinnamon. It was warm under the blanket, so Harrowhark folded her legs under her, her body pressed against Gideon’s. Once the movie started, Gideon wrapped an arm around Harrowhark. It felt natural, it felt safe, it felt like Harrowhark never wanted this to end. She rested her head on Gideon's shoulder, and she could have sworn the mechanic sighed. The mechanic smelled of car grease and snow and old sweat; Harrowhark loved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite herself, Harrowhark watched the movie. She laughed, she scoffed, she finished her hot cocoa and set it on the coffee table beside the other. Then she didn’t know what to do with her hands besides rest them on Gideon’s thigh. Her hands would not stay still. Underneath the black jeans, Gideon’s thighs were muscled, taut, built to squat next to flat tires or punt soccer balls across a pitch. When Harrowhark got too close to her hips, Gideon jumped, muscles tense. Harrowhark found both her hands in Gideon’s free one, grease stains underneath her fingernails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gideon’s expression was open, hopeful. She watched Harrowhark kiss each of her fingers, then her palm. Gideon pulled Harrowhark’s face to hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not a comfortable position for either of them. Harrowhark was awkwardly curled one way and vulnerable in another. She displaced the blanket so she could kneel on the couch, straddling Gideon’s lap, the red-haired mechanic at Harrowhark’s romantic mercy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued kissing. Gideon’s mouth was hot, her breath sweet like the snowfall outside. Harrowhark sucked the flavor from her lips, her skin bubbling with gooseflesh when Gideon moaned against her. She ran her fingers through soft red hair, brushing the coarse hairs of Gideon’s undercut. She pressed her hips into Gideon's, encouraged by muscled arms around her lower back, one hand climbing up her spine, another groping her butt over black trousers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harrowhark opened her mouth for Gideon, felt the press of a tongue against hers, smelled the musky scent of sweat and grease. Then Gideon’s hands were underneath her shirt. Harrowhark lifted her arms, compliant with Gideon’s next move. She was shirtless, with Gideon’s lips on her neck, her throat, leaving a trail down her sternum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movie continued, forgotten by its audience. Gideon asked a question, the question an epicenter of an earthquake that shook Harrowhark’s body. The question smouldered in Gideon's golden gaze; Harrowhark nodded. Then Gideon stood up, Harrowhark’s legs around her hips, and they brought their venture into the bedroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stew was Abigail’s recipe, as were all recipes made in Gideon’s kitchen. They ate at the table, Harrowhark in an oversized black flannel and nothing else. Gideon donned sweatpants and a tank top. The cabin was chilly according to a certain view. They talked about nothing and everything, relaxing around the other, clicking in a way they didn’t when others were present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since high school, Harrowhark let down her guard. She referenced her own rough childhood with vagaries and appreciated the way Gideon understood without wanting to dig deeper. It made her feel safe. Being with Gideon felt safe. Harrowhark’s tongue filled with things to say as a result. There wasn’t enough time to get through them all; the topic of conversation changed every two minutes. Harrowhark ignored the looming countdown clock that was the rental car’s inevitable fix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ate more than she usually did, finishing her bowl and two glasses of water; her stomach no longer twisted in knots because of the presence of others. When she set down her fork for the final time, she looked at Gideon, a charge between them like the pull of a magnet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streaming service on the TV automatically played a third holiday movie that will go unwatched like the previous two. Its audience was too busy to turn it off.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Christmas Day, Gideon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Merry Crisis!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harrowhark was a furnace. She curled against Gideon’s side, her breath a pleasant tickle against the skin, her head using Gideon’s bicep as a pillow. Gideon couldn’t feel her arm, but she loved waking up to see Harrowhark’s angular features relaxed and comfortable, her brow creaseless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon was relaxed too, her limbs heavy with slumber. The night prior was . . . natural, Gideon decided. It was a lot of things—exciting, surprising, cathartic, satisfying, to name a few adjectives—but Gideon couldn’t shake the fact that they could read each other. They somehow spoke the same language. Gideon would moan and Harrowhark would continue doing whatever wonderful thing she did until Gideon squirmed with discomfort. Or Harrowhark would gasp and Gideon knew that what she did felt good. Harrowhark had this trick where— </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The goth elf at her side stirred. Harrowhark blinked happy, black eyes and looked up at Gideon, her mouth an upturned smirk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Mornin’,” Gideon muttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G’mornin’,” Harrowhark mumbled back. She shifted to give Gideon a good morning kiss, her lips lingering a little too long, her hand caressing Gideon’s cheek a little too slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas,” Gideon said against her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark’s eyebrows shot up and her head jerked away. “Oh, I forgot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon just smiled. It was too early to declare love, but she would like to think that whatever she had with Harrowhark would continue. She pushed thoughts of the day after Christmas aside, determined to keep this day—this moment—special for the both of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holiday action for us is at the Pent House,” Gideon said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do we have time before we have to be there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark wiggled her eyebrows, her smile widening salaciously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are incorrigible,” Gideon said as she ran her hand over Harrowhark’s hips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t even know the meaning of the word,” Harrowhark said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon did, but she was occupied with other matters to offer a correction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Pent House was cozy. It always was on Christmas day. Gideon carried a box of presents through the door, Harrowhark holding it open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail always insisted on wearing pajamas when opening presents, which meant Magnus took that idea up to eleven. He and Abigail always wore matching pajamas. One year they wore matching ugly sweaters in addition to pajama pants </span>
  <em>
    <span>and hats</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which was also the last year Magnus was in charge of choosing their holiday attire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For their second Christmas with the Pents, Jeannemary and Isaac also wore matching pajamas. This was apparently the source of a big fight between them the previous week; one wanted matching pjs, the other did not. The way Magnus told the story, the fighting got so bad that Abigail </span>
  <em>
    <span>raised her voice</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which indicated a very different underlying problem between the teens. The fact that the teens bounded over themselves in matching candy cane lounge wear meant that things were resolved (at least when guests were present). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon and Harrowhark donned ugly Christmas sweaters, in black of course, Harrowhark’s sweater fitting better than expected. It was an old one of Gideon's that had shrunk in the wash, which was a shame, but Harrowhark appreciated the skull-and-bones pattern. It was still oversized for her, but Gideon had a private thrill about her sweater holding Harrowhark for the holiday. Gideon’s had skeleton elves in a Scandinavian pattern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First things first was brunch: egg bake, slices of bacon, Magnus’s signature mini-waffles, and orange juice. Everything was delicious of course. Harrowhark was more lively in the conversation, but Gideon could tell she was stiffer than she was yesterday with their Christmas Eve stew. Progress was progress, however, and Gideon hooked her foot with Harrowhark’s under the table. They shared a look, and Harrowhark smiled, the crease between her brows disappearing for the rest of the meal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around the Christmas tree, Jeannemary played Santa, handing out gifts for everyone. Harrowhark had two: one from Gideon and one from Abigail and Magnus. She ran her hands over the packaging like they were precious artefacts, like destroying them would ruin Christmas. Her dark eyes were wide and wet with emotion.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to,” she said, voice teetering on the precipice of something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail, who sat on Harrowhark’s other side, grasped her hand. “I didn’t want you to feel left out,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I-I didn’t get you anything,” Harrowhark said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail shrugged. “Seems unfair to give yourself that expectation, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark quieted until she opened the packages. A throw blanket from the Pents, black of course, and fuzzy; like the one on Gideon’s couch. From Gideon: the jacket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the jacket that started the waterworks, the expensive one from the boutique that Gideon splurged on. Because of the way it emphasized the best parts of Harrowhark, made her look like a rock star two seconds from wailing on a stage, the way she admired herself in the mirror at Mrs. Claus's Closet. The real reason Gideon got it was the way Harrowhark's face fell at the sight of the pricetag, as disappointing as watching The Christmas Carol and then Scrooge refusing to change his ways after all that; then Harrowhark's neutral expression, which Gideon knew to be a mask, that didn't disappear until they met Camilla at the restaurant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark took the box containing the jacket and ran from the living room. Gideon rose to follow, but Abigail stopped her with a hand on the forearm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I got this one," Abigail said, no stranger to mediating undefined or uncontrolled emotions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One glance to the rest of the family showed they were purposefully distracting themselves with their own gifts. Isaac had a thick textbook, Jeannemary a longboard, Magnus a bottle of rye in a curved bottle. Gideon stood up fully and followed Abigail until she could hear their conversation without being seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounded like Harrowhark sat at the top of the stairs, Abigail next to her, the jacket in its box on Harrowhark's lap. Gideon watched the railing with it's faux pine decorations, out of sight from either of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I feel like such an ungrateful guest," Harrowhark said, voice thick. "I forgot to tell you where I was last night." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, we figured that one out pretty quick," Abigail said, as undefeatable as ever, a hint of amusement in her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And I looked, I really did, but I didn't look hard enough."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't beat yourself up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But—"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Listen here." Gideon knew that voice. Abigail was about to go off, but Abigail going off wasn't angry or loud; she was gentle and affirming. Always affirming. Abigail didn't know how to be anything but affirming. She could always see the best parts of someone. She was the one who recognized Gideon's need for independence, who helped Gideon apply to tech school and purchase Red Nose Auto from its previous owner. Had co-signed the mortgage for the building and everything, though it'd been almost a year since she had to chip in for a payment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail continued. "You are here, and your presence is a gift. Don't you dare say otherwise, and don't you dare say that you could do more. I saw you and Gideon at the rink yesterday, and I saw you during the snowball fight. I heard you caroling the day before. I see the way you look at her, and the way she looks at you. You've made this Christmas a special one just for being here. I dearly hope we see more of you in the new year. Just last night, I wished that you get your job at Upstate, just so you can live in Christmasville and hopefully make a home here. It's wishful thinking, I know, especially since you arrived here by chance and hate everything about this town. But I still wish it. I like you, Harrowhark; I would love to get to know you better." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was crying, but it wasn't for Gideon's ears. So she left them to it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christmas dinner was where Jeannemary blew it. She and Harrowhark were talking jobs and what they wanted to be when they grew up. Jeannemary, as always, brought the conversation around to her dreams of being an auto mechanic like Gideon. Gideon turned to Abigail and Magnus talking about something-or-other. She filed it away as boring and returned her attention to Jeannemary and Harrowhark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then: “Like yesterday morning when Gideon showed me your car and what she did with it. It’s fixed now. Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to tell you that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mashed potatoes were always the least favorite of Gideon’s food (Abigail made them plain because Magnus liked his smothered in gravy and nothing else). She played with the pile still on her plate, mixed it with the remaining peas and spread it like butter on the remains of the tenderloin. All the while, she felt Harrowhark’s eyes on her, which froze her stomach where it was, preventing it from completely dropping out of her abdomen. It felt like forever but it had to have taken less than five seconds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark turned to Isaac, asked him his plans for high school and after. Then Gideon looked up and failed to catch her eye for the rest of the meal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner was when Gideon had to get back. Her gifts fit in the box she carried in the morning, so she carried it out with her. Harrowhark saw her to the front door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to spend tonight here,” Harrowhark said. “Take a shower, pack my things.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will I see you before you go?” Gideon asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark shrugged. She bit her lips, her eyes trailing up the zipper of Gideon’s jacket to her face. Gideon’s stomach finally dropped in those eyes, suspended by the feeling that something between them changed with Jeannemary’s announcement. Gideon wanted to salvage this, at least one attempt to clear the air or smooth things out. Without the car, they were two ships passing in the night; Gideon wanted a lifeline between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I was going to tell you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care.” But the way she looked away meant she did. “I don’t. I just . . . I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel. Today was a big day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon nodded. It felt like a pit separated the two of them, a chasm filled with lies and good intentions. As much as Gideon wanted to fill it up and cross it, she knew that was the surefire way to make Harrowhark leave for good. So she said, resigned, “I guess this is goodbye?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark looked up at that, her eyes wide. She grasped Gideon’s forearm and stood on tiptoe to kiss Gideon’s cheek. “Safe drive home,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas,” Gideon said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas,” Harrowhark mumbled back. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. December 26, Harrowhark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She woke in the morning before the sun rose. Packed her duffel back with her things, the blanket making it hard to fit everything (but she made it work). She wore her best blouse with her new jacket, did her make up in the bathroom. Before she left, she made the bed though she was sure Abigail or Magnus would want to wash the sheets. Leave the room better than before, she told herself. Then she went downstairs as quietly as she could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the while, she didn’t know what she felt. Her mind was caught between three places, and it was hard to focus on just one. She wanted to return to her apartment in the big city, comforting in its familiarity, her sanctuary, where she could allow herself to lay down and not move until the new year. But she had an interview at Upstate University, so she couldn’t allow herself to go home until her future was secured. Leaving the city, going back, only to return a few weeks later was an inefficient use of resources that Harrowhark could not afford. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the while, her mind kept going back to Gideon’s apartment. It’s coziness, it’s occupant. Movies on a couch and dinner on the small kitchen table. Everything about the cabin felt secondhand, but she felt comfortable enough to eat a whole plate. She thought of the way Gideon’s cheeks colored. Grease stains on her fingertips. Her smell, her moans, the feel of her sheets on Harrowhark’s back. Gideon gave Harrowhark cute gothic nicknames, liked puns, and never tired of smiling. Harrowhark never thought much about romance, but the idea of a romance with Gideon was not out of the question. Until Jeannemary said the car was ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long had it been ready? Was Gideon intentionally keeping her stranded in Christmasville? At what point could Harrowhark have left of her own volition? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one was up when she went to the kitchen. It was somehow worse. She locked the front door before closing it, slung her duffel onto her shoulders and carried it like an unconscious body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Pent House wasn’t that far from downtown; Gideon lived much further away. Harrowhark looked forward to the walk anyway. It was still too early to call the professor for a meeting. This was time to clear her mind, refocus on what she would say at the meeting, remind herself of what she wanted to ask, what attracted her to the program, what she could bring to the university. And so she trudged, though the cold air bit at her lungs and made it hard to breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thoughts of Gideon kept trapping her mind, and Harrowhark used all her best studying tricks to refocus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Residential houses butted against the downtown businesses, the Christmas decorations looked dormant in the morning light. Nothing was open. It was like walking through a ghost town, but a recently abandoned one. There was a surreal quality to it; Harrowhark pretended like she was left behind in the Christmas Rapture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the street from Red Nose Auto was a diner, the only place with people for at least two blocks. She thought she recognized a shock of red hair in the window, but it wasn’t who she thought it was. Whoever they were wore a green sweater. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rental car was in the parking lot. Harrowhark had the spare key in her pocket and used it to open the trunk, where she stored her duffel. Before pulling out, she took one last look at Red Nose Auto, still unsure about everything, about Gideon. The maps app on her phone said to turn right, so she resumed the journey she started what felt like ages ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Professor Nicholas had warm eyes that sparkled like beetles and a white beard that made him look like Santa Claus. But his sports jacket was blue and his tie was a swirl of purple and pink. He looked comfortable in his skin, though his cheeks were rosy like the pink in his tie and his stomach protruded as he leaned back to listen to Harrowhark. In the back of her head, Harrowhark had the distinct impression that he didn’t fit into this office; but she couldn’t spare the energy to read the degrees on the walls or the awards on the shelves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not her best interview. She kept forgetting where she had published, Professor Nicholas often chipping in where her memory failed her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about the way his beard twitched when he smiled made Harrowhark think he knew more than he let on. Like this interview was a test of some kind, and he was just waiting for an excuse to pull the trick he had been building up to the entire time they sat in his office. (It was chilly in the office, and Harrowhark was grateful for the jacket Gideon gifted her and the warmth it provided.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem distracted,” Professor Nicholas said after they had been talking for nearly an hour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark sighed. “I have to admit, I am a little bit. But that’s not important right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The professor leaned forward, his arms resting on his desk. His eyes twinkled more intensely than ever, and Harrowhark had the impression she had seen them at least once before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I hope you’ll let me ask one final, and perhaps the most important, question,” he said. Harrowhark felt her back straighten. This was the trick he was leading up to. “Why do you want to write your dissertation at Upstate University?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark could think of a number of reasons: the current students at the program were all related to her own course of study, so they could share resources; she cited the research of one of their professors in a lot of her own articles. She was prepared to launch into her rehearsed speech about her professional goals, how Upstate University could fit into all of them, and how she could contribute to the University’s overall reputation in academia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then she recognized where she had seen Professor Nicholas before. He wasn’t in his saturated red coat, nor did he wear a hat, nor did he laugh and receive laughter in return. His beetle eyes twinkled like someone watching a friend understanding a bad joke. He was amused, anticipatory, waiting. Everything Harrowhark had planned to say plopped to the floor like a broken ketchup packet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What she finally said was, “I met someone, who lives nearby in—” she absolutely did not roll her eyes “—Christmasville, of all places. And I used to hate Christmas, but she taught me that it’s not about the holiday. It’s not about gift-giving or angels or some child in a manger or whatever. It’s about the people in your community. I’ve been denying myself that for so long that I forgot what it felt like to belong. She taught me about friendships, and she can teach me so much more. And, I am realizing just now, I want to learn. I . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>. . . did not care about the car, she realized right then. Jeannemary did not reveal that Gideon purposefully kept Harrowhark stranded, she revealed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>surprise</span>
  </em>
  <span>. One that Harrowhark ruined by taking the car before Gideon had time to explain herself. Because the rental was, in Gideon’s words, an explosion waiting to happen; so Gideon would have ensured it was up to her high standards and that the rental company would take full responsibility for parts and labor. A process that would have involved a lot of follow-up, and a lot of waiting. Instead of leaving Harrowhark alone, she decided to make the experience of waiting magical. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know about bones,” Harrowhark continued. “There’s still lots to learn about bones, and I want to study them. But I have a lot to study about friendship too. What it means to be part of a community. Gideon can help with that. Upstate University can help with that. I want to grow, not just as an academic, but as a person. This is the place I can be the best I can be. And that’s why I want to study here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t shake the feeling that her entire week has been one giant setup and Professor Nicholas was in the middle of it. Now that she thought about it, he sounded vaguely like the car rental rep she got the car through, and when she later looked him up in the school directory, there was no Professor Nicholas in the program. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood in the hallway, staring at a list of professor names on a map, when a woman with short, peach-colored hair stopped next to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t I help you?” she asked, voice pinched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, “Just a bit lost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait.” The woman’s eyes were a hurricane, a mixture of dust and red that matched her hair so she looked just as monochrome as Harrowhark. “I recognize you from a photo. Are you the Harrowhark Nonagesimus that wrote the article about the properties of bones and used my research?” She didn’t pronounce Harrowhark’s name right, but yes, yes she was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Harrowhark spoke with and had an impromptu meeting with Professor Mercymorn, where they talked about their work and where they want to take their studies. She was haughty and disappointed that Harrowhark’s measly twenty-six years did not yield as much academic progress as Mercymorn’s own. But they clicked, and Harrowhark walked away with a job interview (a legit one) scheduled for later in January. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A formality, really,” Mercymorn said, wrinkling her nose at disgust. “I hate bureaucracy but only when it works against me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she walked back to the rental car, her future was more certain than it had been for years, and a new job at Upstate University was just the beginning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark did not expect Gideon to be home. It was mid-afternoon when Harrowhark pulled into the drive, Gideon’s muscle car covered in a faint layer of snow from earlier in the day. Harrowhark knocked on the door jam, her stomach tumbling like the final setting of a dryer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Gideon opened her door, her eyes were dazed, two abandoned stars that didn’t know where to go. She looked like how Harrowhark felt this time last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Her hair drooped, her shirt curled around her torso like she just got out of bed. Gideon’s eyes widened at the sight of Harrowhark on her doorstep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hear me out,” Harrowhark said. She mentally wrote this speech in the car and didn’t want it to leave her mind as soon as she stepped inside. “I have always hated Christmas. When I lived with my aunts, it was all prayer and no presents. When I lived on my own, it was just a reminder of everything I didn’t have. And I tried to hide behind the whole Christmas-is-a-capitalist-trap thing, but that wasn’t the truth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The truth is, every year, usually a day or two before Christmas, I would order a smorgasbord of take out. Like, I made a list of all my favorite places and all my favorite foods from each, and I ordered everything I liked. It was very expensive, but it was enough to last me until past New Year’s. I would go to the library and bribe one of the librarians to let me take home some things, books usually, that weren’t allowed to go home with students. And I would keep them until the new year. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because, the truth is, I would hole myself up in my apartment every Christmas because I preferred to hide myself than show others how much I craved their company. Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And because I was so very, very lonely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then I came here and I met you and . . . and it was the biggest chance encounter I could have stumbled upon, but I am so happy that it happened and that you are now in my life. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere, or with anyone. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to go away. I want you to be my person. And . . .” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was Harrowhark, laid bare with tears on her cheeks and her heart in her hands, vulnerable and ready to be smashed, no matter how much that would hurt. Her hands shook because she didn’t know if Gideon would want her back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What she couldn’t know was Gideon never felt wanted. So as Harrowhark spoke, Gideon’s ears turned pink from the winter cold and her toes hated the feel of snow through her socks and her shoulders shivered. But she didn’t feel any of that. She saw Harrowhark’s precious and unprotected heart and saw a flower, a kindred spirit, someone who met Gideon and, for the first time ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>came back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon pulled Harrowhark in her arms, lost eyes now found, and she tried not to sob. She kind of failed. “I’m so sorry,” Gideon said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t do anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I left without telling Abigail.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon chuckled, her hot breath tickling the top of Harrowhark’s head. “She’s already forgiven you. Come in. It’s really cold and my feet hate it.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Through the year these two will be together</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>JANUARY</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Palamedes’ turn to host New Year’s. Everyone in the county between the ages of twenty-one and thirty were in attendance, to Pal’s chagrin, but Camilla had planned for that and kept pulling out hor d'oeuvres whenever they ran out. People knew better than to ask where they all came from. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Five seconds before midnight, Harrowhark cornered Gideon against the back of the couch. She never had anyone to kiss at midnight before, and she wanted to savor it as long as she could. The stroke of midnight lasted two minutes. When they separated, a handful of attendees applauded. Harrowhark blushed, never one for public displays of affection; Gideon asked them what they were staring at. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before the new semester started, Gideon accompanied Harrowhark back to the big city to spend the weekend. Harrowhark’s entire apartment fit into Gideon’s living room and cost twice as much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>cozy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Harrowhark said one evening as they watched a movie from her futon. “I like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like the bones hanging on the walls,” Gideon said, determined to find at least one thing to make all future stays tolerable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon returned home after two days. It was hard without her that first week. Harrowhark learned to live for the sound of her voice on the other end of the phone. They spoke at night, before going to sleep, about their days, about future plans, about everything and nothing at all. Harrowhark felt like they stood at the bottom of a giant mountain. But they clasped hands and started the climb, a team with a common goal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>FEBRUARY </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon wanted to surprise Harrowhark for Valentine’s Day, and Harrowhark let her. She expected Gideon to come visit the big city, but she did not expect the expensive dinner at the top floor of a hotel. They were underdressed for the venue, but the Maitre D left them alone because several other couples turned out to be so much more demanding. They dined bathed in the ambient city lights, closer than starlight, the lights reflecting off Gideon’s eyes, each of them a sun. One hundred butterflies replaced Harrowhark’s insides; she didn’t know she could contain so much emotion for just one person. The fact that it didn’t drain fascinated her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Towards the end of the month, Harrowhark got a letter in the mail that confirmed what she knew for almost two months already: she would be attending Upstate University starting in the fall. She called Gideon earlier than usual, catching her in the middle of a night out. They shouted through the phone, words lost to them, but their excitement understood nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before the note, there was always that slight chance that Harrowhark would not be accepted. She had placed her hopes in that sliver of a chance to prepare herself. But now the future was certain. She was writing her dissertation at Upstate University. Her relationship with Gideon was golden like a growing flower. If life were a puzzle, Harrowhark was just starting to see the shape of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>MARCH</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark hosted a group of Gideon’s Christmasville peers for St. Patrick’s Day. Harrowhark joined them for a drunken revelry on the town, the only color on her person the obnoxiously large leprechaun hat Gideon plopped on her head at the second bar. Harrowhark being a lightweight could not have been more oblivious to it. Gideon was also determined to get drunk. Poor Palamedes took care of them both, rubbing their backs when they puked in grungy bar bathrooms and, once, on the stoop of a celebrity that came out to yell at them in his bathrobe. Gideon had the audacity to try to get an autograph, right after nearly ralphing on his slippers. It went as expected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Harrowhark’s horror, this was the moment she first confessed her love for Gideon, as they were chased off the block by whatever C-list celebrity. She didn’t remember the moment, but Camilla recorded it for blackmail’s sake (though she called it posterity when she showed Gideon, who also didn’t remember). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>APRIL</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark took a bus to Christmasville for Easter. She was not religious, but she came armed with literature for Isaac about the pagan symbology in the holiday. He was a little academic, and Harrowhark was determined to feed that part of him. It felt a bit like going home, even though she had only spent time there the once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Easter was not as intense as Christmas. The house was spring-themed but not a wonderland of yellow chicks and bunnies. Abigail’s ferns replaced the Christmas knick knacks on all the surfaces. Magnus even hid an Easter basket for Harrowhark. She brought a bottle of wine for the adults to drink with Easter dinner, her way of trying to prove that she can be a good guest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spent her nights with Gideon, who did not share her walls with neighbors. Harrowhark remembered this with more gusto than Gideon expected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning, snug in each other’s arms, Harrowhark felt her feelings swell like the tide. Gideon nuzzled her ear, sleepy still, and muttered “I love you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Gideon’s eyes were stars, then Harrow’s were the vacuum where they made their home. Harrowhark was just as vast, just as infinite, and now, with the three simplest words of the English language, she finally had the vocabulary to express this. Sober this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>MAY</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark did not plan on walking in a graduation ceremony, but signed up when Gideon said the Pents wanted to visit. Magnus was a big dad about it, recording video with his phone even though the zoom sucked and Harrowhark was just a big black blur with billowing robes, shaking hands with other black blurs in robes. Gideon teased Magnus at dinner that evening, but Harrowhark said nothing. She was afraid more than words would spill out if she opened her mouth, and she didn’t want to lose it in front of the Pents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did in front of Gideon, in the privacy of her apartment, now half-packed in boxes for her move in a few weeks. Harrowhark could barely read the text she sent to Magnus asking for a copy of the video. He sent it with a line of gift-wrapped heart emoji, somehow containing multitudes without even saying a word. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>JUNE</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon took out an ad in a few local newspapers, in the hopes of improving business a little bit to help with the added food bill of Harrowhark in her life. It worked better than anticipated. In addition to added consumer business, several businesses wanted Gideon as their go-to mechanic for trucks and delivery vehicles. So Gideon worked extra hours, and it wasn’t enough. She came home grouchy and tired every night she worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life would be grand coming home to Harrowhark, but only if Harrowhark could decide on a goddamn arrangement for their furniture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their first major argument was about which of their items to keep, and which items belonged where on the walls, and whose kitchen accessories were better. It was a shouting match, the first of few. Gideon was stressed about the increased workload, Harrowhark was stressed about the new living environment. They coped by pulling everything down onto the floor, voices raised, the depths of both of their combined vocabularies stretched to their limits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the entirety of their belongings lay on the floor, with nowhere to be displayed and nowhere to store them, that was when Gideon and Harrowhark looked at each other from across the main room. It was well past midnight; they were both spent and out of energy. Tired and no longer annoyed, they came to the realization that this argument was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So they laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither would go to bed until the house was packed away, deciding case-by-case which kitchen accessories really were better, and which items they would donate, and which they would put into storage, and which they would display. Anything that threatened to restart the argument was set on the couch to deal with later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the sun rose, Gideon went to the shop to finish up a few work orders. She came back later in the morning, having taken the rest of the day off. They slept, spooning in Gideon’s sheets, until the sun set. Then they stayed in bed until the sun rose again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>JULY </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They found a rhythm. Harrowhark decided to make an office for studying at Red Nose Auto. She would come in two hours after Gideon, legs sore from the walk, and spent most of her time clearing invoices and following up on payments. She was an effective office manager but was never trained in customer service. So when one customer went off on Harrowhark for something as stupid as her tone, Harrowhark went off in turn. Gideon listened from the doorway, eyes wide, and applauded when Harrowhark collected the final payment on that invoice, the argument won in her favor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between helping Gideon with the shop and her own impending studies at Upstate University, Harrowhark found herself torn between too many responsibilities: academia, Gideon’s business, and domestic life. She sought the counsel of her new community to help her through it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail, balancing the paperwork for all her bed and breakfasts as well as Decks and Halls, taught her that Harrowhark can study and work part-time at Red Nose Auto. Camilla, who’s unflinching stoicism was intimidating to customers of all sorts, advised Harrowhark on the importance of the phrase “I didn’t make these rules” (even though she totally did). Palamedes referred his business accountant to her, a person he had referred Gideon to years earlier without any follow through. This last one earned them an extra couple hundred a month. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Harrowhark part of the business, Gideon could spend more time with the cars. Harrowhark timed how much time she spent prepping paperwork, discovering that it didn’t take that long at all. Their shared domestic life, which Harrowhark feared would be her sole responsibility, was much less stressful. Gideon was already domesticated, with a designated cleaning day and rotating grocery list. Gideon was prone to making social plans without consulting Harrowhark, but this was more endearing than annoying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>AUGUST</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Harrowhark’s first ever camping trip, they joined a group to a state park four states away. Harrowhark hated it. At least for that first night. The ground was lumpy, the forest made weird noises, and she was certain that a werewolf wandered into their tent at four in the morning when she had to pee. She decided to hold it and wait until sunrise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second night was better, when she and Gideon returned tired from taking the wrong turn on a hiking trail. They spooned in the same sleeping bag, their different scents mingling into something familiar and calming. Upon waking, once more before the sun rose, Harrowhark was bored and wrapped in Gideon’s arms and, really, Gideon was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there </span>
  </em>
  <span>and also awake. They got randy. When they emerged to relieve themselves, Harrowhark felt as though she joined a secret club with the others. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Camping was okay after that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>SEPTEMBER </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark fell in love for the second time with her school. She was only expected on campus three days of the week. Gideon taught her to drive the manual, the only car between them, so she had a way to get there. Harrowhark, used to watching Gideon drive and naturally a fast learner, took to it pretty easily. She started the semester as the most popular TA with the undergrads by pulling into the parking lot with a muscle car as black as her wardrobe, but quickly lost the reputation when they learned how harsh she was with grading. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surprisingly, or perhaps not if Gideon’s opinion mattered, she and Mercymorn did not work well together. But they made it work because, underlying their animosity, was an admiration. Harrowhark ripped into an early draft of Mercymorn’s latest article like it belonged to one of her undergrads. She challenged the major idea tying all the data points together. That started a back-and-forth with Mercymorn so intense that Harrowhark received a publishing credit (to her utter surprise). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>OCTOBER</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon Nav, who did not decorate for Christmas the year previous, decorated to the nines for Halloween. The last day of September was a decorating day, and Harrowhark returned from the university to find the walls covered in gauzy spiderwebs, all the glasses in the cupboard replaced with cheap plastic chalices, and an incessant plea to paint Harrowhark’s display bones in neon colors only visible under a black light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Harrowhark shouted after what felt like the hundredth time. “I’ll get you fake bones you can paint!” And she did at one of those pop-up Halloween stores. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It surprised her, though it should not have, that Gideon hosted THE Halloween Party every year. Gideon spent the month assembling their costumes: Frankenstein and his bride (“Frankenstein is the doctor,” Harrowhark said to deaf ears). The day of the party, Harrowhark and Gideon painted their faces grey, donned wigs (or a plastic cap in Gideon’s case), and greeted their guests in-character. Camilla was a doctor, Palamedes her sexy nurse. Judith and her girlfriend Marta were players of the USA Womens’ soccer team. Harrowhark lost track after that. She got drunk when she didn’t mean to, made out with Gideon like they were horny teenagers at a frat party, and passed out in the bathtub. Gideon did not fare any better, waking up in the weeds outside the bathroom window. (To be fair, the rest of the party-goers found themselves in questionable places throughout Gideon’s property. Camilla, for all her composure, woke up in a goddamn tree.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark thought she lost her wig for good, but Camilla found it on the top of a neighbor’s tree. The story behind it’s journey would never be known. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon called the party a success. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>NOVEMBER</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark had planned to redecorate the day after the big Halloween party, but was too hungover, so she redecorated the first Friday in November when Gideon was at work. She had spent all of September and October soliciting old and unused Christmas decorations from everyone she knew in town, which at this point was almost everyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Gideon came home, she stood dumbfounded in the doorway, her eyes tracking across the twinkling lights, knick knacks, faux wreaths, and tinsel. Nothing matched, which annoyed Harrowhark, but this wasn’t for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark greeted Gideon with a kiss, then pointed to the mistletoe hanging overhead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want a real tree,” Harrowhark said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll get a real tree,” Gideon promised, eyes alight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>DECEMBER</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between finals and holiday plans, Harrowhark got too frazzled to function. Gideon calmed her down by taking over all their holiday plans and all office duties at the shop. True to form, Gideon attended every decorating workshop at Sugar Plum Bakery, dragging Harrowhark along despite all the final papers she needed to grade. After the second workshop (decorating cupcakes), Harrowhark acknowledged that she felt more relaxed after them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the same for other activities: caroling with Palamedes and his off-tune choir of volunteers, finding a tree with Magnus and Abigail and the teens, watching old-school Christmas movies with Judith and Marta, shopping for gifts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gideon and Harrowhark took an overnight trip to an outlet mall one state away to buy presents for everyone on their lists. To Harrowhark’s surprise, it was Gideon that brought her organizational A-game: divvying up who is purchasing for who and scheduling the times they should meet for lunch, coffee, and dinner. (“Trust me, you’ll need the energy.”) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to the other, they each visited the same jeweler at different times of the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As with the previous year, the days leading up to Christmas were cheerful and busy with social activities, while Christmas Day was laid-back and spent with the Pents. To the surprise of everyone, Harrowhark and Gideon wore matching Christmas pajamas, the only item of color in either of their wardrobes, even if that color is green-and-red plaid. During brunch, Harrowhark slid an extra present under the tree for Gideon, hidden behind some bigger presents so no one else would notice except her (and Abigail. She told Abigail about it). She hid it so well that it was not passed out with everything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So after presents were opened, Gideon pulled Harrowhark to the tree and took off an ornament that was really an engagement ring: an onyx band with a single black gemstone. Small and elegant, like Harrowhark. Gideon asked on one knee, golden eyes filled with everything Harrowhark never thought she would need in life: hope and community and commitment and support and </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A sense of completeness washed over Harrowhark, similar to an egg cracking on her head and the whites and yolk dripping down to cover her entirety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark started to vibrate, her own emotions somewhere between crying and laughing. She kept at it as she searched under the tree for her little box, delicately wrapped. She ignored Abigail and Magnus in the background and the screams of the teens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harrowhark took Gideon’s ring and gave her the present with its stupid little bow and garish wrapping paper. Gideon, dumbstruck, her face contorting with the same emotions as Harrowhark, ripped the paper off (but put the bow on her own head) and opened the box. Inside was a black band inlaid with golden topaz to match her eyes, their names engraved on the inside. It came with a chain so Gideon could wear it around her neck as she worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mistress of midnight, we have our answers,” Gideon said as they slid their rings on each other’s fingers. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, no matter what time of the year you read this. :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please share your love in the comments and subscribe for updates! Find me elsewhere online on <a href="https://themorikelife.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/CallMeKT_91">Twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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